Remembering Sunday
by Bellezza Romana
Summary: Leaning now, into the breeze - remembering Sunday, he falls to his knees. They had breakfast together, but two eggs don't last like the feeling of what he needs. UKxfem!USA oneshot songfic. Human names used.


**AN: so, I really should be writing the next chapter of A Trip To Remember, but I was listening to Remembering Sunday by All Time Low at the weekend and had a serious urge to write a fanfic on it. If you don't know that song, I highly recommend it - it has a lot of feels but it's awesome. So here is a mildly short fic based off that song, written over the last three days. The pairing is Arthur (UK) and Abigail or Abby (fem!America), with mentions of Francis (France), Kiku (Japan), Ludwig (Germany), Yong Soo (South Korea), Lukas (Norway), Elizaveta (Hungary), Roderich (Austria), Feliciano (North Italy) and Matthew (Canada). Rated T for, I think about two counts of language, hints of a sexual theme in one section, mention of heavy drinking and character suicide. I don't own Hetalia or it's characters, and the song Remembering Sunday belongs to All Time Low - only this story belongs to me. Enjoy!**

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**Beep beep. Beep beep. Beep beep.**

Arthur raised his arm groggily and slammed his hand down on the alarm clock, hoping to shut off the infernal noise. Instead, he knocked the entire thing off the table, and he heard it hit the floor with a bang. He groaned. Why had he even set the damn thing in the first place?

Sighing, the Brit rolled over and attempted to sit up, but he fell back down again almost immediately. His head was pounding. Just what had he been drinking last night? He'd known he had work the next day - a hangover on the job was never a great way to start a Monday. Maybe Francis had dragged him out to the pub on pain of death. Yeah, that was probably it.

Well, might as well try to get up, he thought, annoyed. He stomach was already rolling with the thought of moving. But he had to. Slowly, he pushed his upper body up, trying to ignore the feeling of someone hammering the inside of his head. It took two minutes just to let the room stop spinning.

Somehow, Arthur got himself from the bedroom to the bathroom, out of his clothes and into a shower. He hoped the water would help clear his head, but to be honest it just made him feel worse. Sighing, he rubbed some shampoo into his messy blonde hair, and tried to remember where he'd been the night before. Everything was so hazy - it made his head hurt, more than it already did anyway.

Suddenly, his stomach heaved and he needed to get out of the shower, now, and then his head was over the toilet and he was throwing up all of his last few meals. He rested his boiling forehead against the seat and groaned again. Everything was going so great.

He dried and dressed himself in a daze, not really concentrating on anything. He had the vague feeling he was missing something big, but he couldn't remember what it was.

Arthur decided tea was the best course of action, and hurried to his kitchen to make himself some. As the kettle was boiling, he knocked back three Ibuprofen with reckless abandon, hoping they would make him feel better.

He was just stirring the milk into the tea when he noticed his answer machine was flashing. Intrigued, he picked up the phone and dialled the voicemail. The first was an ad for a new music shop - nothing interesting there. The second was a message from his brother Colin, reminding him that his siblings were visiting next week. Arthur gritted his teeth. As much as he loved his brothers and sister, they annoyed him continually and he always felt exhausted when they left after a visit.

Sighing, he slumped in his seat and sipped his tea, half-listening to the last message. Then he sat up.

**One new message. 2:04pm on Tuesday 12th November. **Tuesday? How could he have a message from the next day? **Bonjour, Arthur, it is Francis. Where are you? I have been calling for two days, and you're not answering - are you playing a sick joke or something? Kiku is getting worried. If this is about what happened with Abby, you can't hole-**

The phone slid from Arthur's hand, but he didn't care. Francis' voice continued to come through the phone, but he wasn't listening. His head was hurting more than ever, and he remembered. Oh god, he remembered.

_"Artie, you've gotta get down here! The movie is totally starting!"_

_Arthur rolled his eyes but stood up from the wardrobe, leaving the work for another day. Abby was calling him from downstairs, and he was never one to ignore the call of Abigail F. Jones._

_As he walked down the stairs, he marvelled at the simple fact of the evening. It was their two year anniversary - not hard to believe, but he loved Abby, more than anyone else, and reaching this milestone meant a lot to him. He'd never believed that he could fall for the American girl so easily. Usually, he found people from the States obnoxious and childish, and indeed, those had been his thoughts on Abby at first, but she'd grown on him gradually and well, here we are._

_As he passed the hallway, Arthur snuck a glance at his jacket, in the pocket of which hid a little black box. The engagement ring. Even though he was never a spontaneous sort of person, Arthur had decided on a whim the other day, to ask Abby to marry him. Tonight, he was going to do it. He had been nervous all day and now the moment had arrived. He just had to watch this film first..._

_Abby was sitting on the sofa, bouncing up and down with excitement. Once again, the Briton had to stop and silently register just how gorgeous she was. Abby had cropped blonde hair, with sparkly blue eyes and square glasses perched on top of her head – she only used them for reading, and even then she complained about them. She was dressed in her trademark hotpant shorts and crop top, with one alteration - one of Arthur's pale green shirts hung over her slim shoulders, looking slightly comical but adorable at the same time._

_"Love, I told you before, I like Arthur," he smiled, sitting next to her._

_"And I told you before, I don't care," Abby pouted back, then pressed a hand against his mouth. "Now shush, I really wanna see this!"_

_"Why now, of all times?" Arthur questioned, pushing her hand away._

_Abby blushed and looked away. "I just like this movie, okay? All the films I like don't have to be about guns and violence, you know!"_

_Arthur raised an eyebrow at this, but made no comment. Especially the one about the fact this was the third time they'd watched Love Actually in a week._

_The American snuggled up against him, eating from a tub of her favourite ice cream. Arthur slid an arm round her and sighed. Who cared how many times they watched the same movie - as long as his girlfriend was happy and they were together, he'd do anything._

"Oh God..." Arthur moaned, leaning forward to put his head in his hands. "Oh bloody hell..."

He tried to stop himself remembering, to go back to the blissful obliviousness he'd been in just a few minutes earlier, but he couldn't. The memories were rolling out on their own accord - he was helpless to stop them.

_The movie had finished - ten minutes ago? An hour? Arthur didn't care - and now they were curled up on the sofa, kissing. They had started off innocent, but were rapidly progressing into something more passionate as Abby gently started unbuttoning his shirt. Arthur didn't mind – he was too busy trying to ease her strap off her shoulder._

_He'd just had a victory with the strap and was pulling Abby onto his lap when she leaned her head away and clasped her hands around his own. "Not here," she whispered, glancing upward. Arthur understood immediately, and nodded. Abby jumped up and grabbed his hand, dragging him out of the door and through her hall. At the bottom of the stairs, she stopped and slid closer to kiss him again. It made him dizzy._

_"You know I love you?" Arthur smiled as they came up for air._

_"Hell yeah!" Abby giggled, and ran a hand through his hair. Then her look softened. "I love you too, Artie. I hope you know that."_

_He kissed her on the nose. "Of course I do." Then he gestured to the stairway. "Shall we?"_

_Abby took his hand once more and led him upstairs with a devilish grin._

"Can't...watch..." Arthur muttered, and stood up abruptly. He left his tea on the table and the phone on the floor. Woodenly, he walked to his tiny hall and pulled on shoes, not even noticing which ones, then unlocked the door to his apartment and stepped out. He just needed some air.

Locking the door again, he walked away, trying not to think. He knew there was more, Arthur had had sudden flashbacks before after a night of heavy drinking, and he didn't want to know. But his memories were chasing after him, he knew, and it was just when he'd reached the bottom of the concrete steps and was out into the open ground when he was hit with another wave of emotion, and he fell to his knees, hands against his head.

_Arthur woke gradually, feeling blissfully content. He was lying on a really soft mattress, not his, and was warm all over. Sun was streaming through a window nearby, shining through his lids, but he didn't want to get up just yet. He was enjoying the relaxed feeling of somewhere between consciousness and dreams when he heard a door slam below._

_Furrowing his (rather large) eyebrows, the Brit sat up, opening his eyes to the brightness. He was in Abby's bedroom, he realised quickly, and had been sleeping in her bed. To his left, there was an indent in the mattress where obviously someone else had lain not long ago – the duvet was still warm. Hurriedly, he pulled on his shirt and jeans before walking downstairs, wondering where his girlfriend had gone._

_On the kitchen table, a steaming mug of tea stood next to a plate of bacon and eggs, with a little note propped up next to it. Arthur picked up the note and read it._

**_Yo Artie! Just headed out to buy some bread, since I'm all out. Knew you'd be up soon, so left you breakfast – your favourite. ;) Don't wait too long. Lots of love, Abby x_**

_Smiling, Arthur sat down to enjoy the meal. When she wasn't heating up chips or hamburgers, Abby could cook up a storm._

_He'd just finished the plate and was searching around for a bag of doughnuts (Abby always had them somewhere) when he noticed there was a half finished loaf of bread still in the bread bin. Strange, he thought, pausing in his quest. Didn't Abby say she was out of bread?_

_Arthur decided to put it down to Abby not noticing – she was very ditzy, she could have easily missed it. Since the note hadn't said when the American would be back, and had even explicitly told him not to wait up, he decided to leave his own note for her then leave. He had work to finish at home – papers don't write themselves, you know._

_Nodding to himself, Arthur put the plates away wrote a short message explaining his leaving and went to grab his jacket. As he was pulling it on, he felt something in the pocket. Confused, he reached in to pull out a tiny black box, which flipped open to reveal a delicate silver ring._

_Arthur promptly facepalmed. He had practically forgotten, which was strange seeing as the thought of proposing had been eating at his stomach the entire night before. But now Abby was out, so either he could wait here until she returned - not the favourite idea - or go out to look for her and ask her, right there._

_Arthur liked the latter best. Not the usual marriage inducing situation, he knew, but Abby would want him to come straight out with it than waste time making it all romantic. Even if he wanted to do that - he was a gentleman, after all._

_Nervousness started tightening around his throat as he pulled his shoes on, but he ignored it. Slamming the door to the house and locking it, the Brit looked up to see the first drops of rain hit him in the face. Again, he refused to let it dampen his spirits. Everything would be fine - wouldn't it?_

Regaining consciousness once again, Arthur steeled himself mentally and tried to slow his breathing. He waited for the next memory, but none came. Why not? He wondered. Maybe I can remember what happens next. But as he searched he thoughts, he found nothing. No recollection of actually proposing to Abby or even of leaving to house after that moment. Odd.

Luckily, his headache was now subsiding, so Arthur started walking again, slowly at first but he soon picked up the pace. There was still a sick feeling lodged somewhere in his chest, the origin of which he was unsure of, but he didn't pay any attention to it. He just concentrated on walking aimlessly, letting steam off after the painful memory return.

"Hey, sir!" Arthur stopped and looked around, wondering if they were calling to him.

"You there! Mister Kirkland!" They were calling to him. Arthur looked over and saw a boy across the street, standing in the door to a pub. It was one of his regular haunts, but he didn't recognise the man. He had a vaguely Asian look about him, with short brown hair and an uneasy smile.

"Uh, hello there," Arthur approached cautiously. "Do I know you?"

"I'm new, da-ze," the boy explained, sticking out a hand. "The name's Im Yong Soo, but you can call me Soo, especially if you're going to be hanging round here a lot, da-ze?"

"Well, hello there, Soo," Arthur smiled. So, he was Korean. "Well, yes, I do spend a bit of time round here, but only every few evenings-"

"Really, da-ze?" Soo laughed. "That's not what the last guy said, Lukas. He said you pretty much haven't been anywhere else for three or four days, da-ze. That was why he left."

"Three or four days?!" Arthur was surprised. "But I never...I don't...it can't..." Then he remembered the odd date of the phone call. "Soo, what day is it today?"

"Hangover just hitting, eh, da-ze?" Soo winked. "It's Thursday, Mister Kirkland."

"Thursday?" Arthur stared in space. He'd lost three days of his life, just like that. How? "I can't remember...anything..."

"I can," a new voice came from inside the pub. It was the bar manager, Ludwig. He stepped out of the door, giving Yong Soo a cursory glance as he passed.

"What happened?" Arthur asked curiously.

"You came in here on Sunday and said you needed a drink, now," the German replied, giving Arthur the evil eye. "You drank way more than the healthy amount, I'll give you that. You were out of your mind, Arthur. Something shook you up in a big way."

"Did-did I ever say what it was?" Arthur murmured.

"Don't you know?" Ludwig peered at him.

"My memories are just coming back," Arthur explained. "I think the drinking may have taken me out for a while."

"Did it ever, da-ze!" Soo giggled from behind Ludwig. "You were so mean when you were drunk, that's why Lukas cleared off, da-ze!"

"Yes, yes, indeed," Arthur muttered, not really listening. "If you'll excuse me, gentlemen, I need to go talk to someone."

"Of course, Arthur," Ludwig nodded seriously. "Oh, and Kirkland?" The German added as Arthur turned away. "Stay off the drink for a bit, _ja_?"

"Sure," the Brit nodded, then hurried away before Ludwig could give him one of his customary you're-going-on-a-suicide-mission farewells.

The facts added up in a strange way - he left Abby's house to propose to her, then later the same day (which, according to his body clock, must have been Sunday), he walked into a bar and, for want of a better word, got completely shitfaced for three days straight. There was only one person who he could go to for answers – Abby herself.

Arthur knew the way to her house like the back of his hand, and within ten minutes he was outside her front door. His fingers ran along the rim of the frame, searching for the spare key that was always kept there. When he could find none, he peered through the frosted glass, confused. Why would she move it?

Sighing, he knocked several times, tapping his foot as he waited. When five minutes has passed, he tried shouting.

"Abby?" he called through the keyhole. No reply. "Abigail? Abigail F. Jones!" Still no response.

Arthur walked round the front living room window, expecting Abby to be in there dancing to music on her headphones, oblivious to his shouts. Instead, he saw no-one, and a fine layer of dust covered everything.

Arthur thought about calling, but realised he'd left his phone on the counter at home when he'd hurried out earlier. He was considering banging until his hand went numb when he felt the strange sense of being watched. Turning, he saw a man standing at the end of the short path. The man was blonde, with pale blue eyes and glasses. He was clutching a small white bear and it was obvious he'd been crying.

The man reminded Arthur a lot of Abby, and he was just trying to place him when the man called out softly; "Arthur? What are you doing here?"

"I'm looking for Abigail," Arthur explained, still trying to figure out who this guy was. "Um, who are you? I think I recognise you, but-"

"It's me, Matthew," Matthew sighed, and Arthur got the feeling he'd had to say this a lot. "I'm Abby's twin brother, remember?"

"Of course!" Arthur smiled, recalling that he'd met Matthew on a number of occasions. "Listen, Mattie," he said as he walked down the path towards him. "Do you know where Abby is? Only, I've been knocking for ages and she doesn't-"

"Don't even try and pull that one on me," Matthew whispered, and Arthur saw tears well up in his eyes. What had he said? "Arthur, I can't believe you. That sort of sick joke isn't funny. You think it's-"

"What joke?" Arthur felt like confusion was his Emotion of the Week or something. "I'm serious, Mattie. I'm not sure where she's gone, I considered calling but-"

"Just shut up!" Mattie shut his eyes and shook his head, tears spilling down his face. "You're drunk, aren't you? Oh maple, Arthur, she never liked it when you drank. You need to calm down, okay? I know it's hard to accept, but this isn't the way to get over it. Please, you can come and talk when you've sorted your head out. Just leave this house alone, for God's sake." With that, Mattie backed away down the street, then turned and speed-walked away from Arthur. In seconds, he was gone.

Well, that was weird.

Arthur mused over Mattie's strange behaviour as he walked to the neighbour's house - maybe they knew something about Abby's disappearance. The door was opened almost immediately by a brunette woman with a kind face, who was carrying a young auburn-haired boy.

"Hello?" she smiled, looking at Arthur. Unplaceable accent.

"I'm Arthur," Arthur started. "I'm terribly sorry to intrude like this, but I was wondering if you knew where Abigail F. Jones has gone? I've been looking for her, and since she wasn't in, I hoped you might know."

"Abigail?" The woman's eyes immediately filled with sadness. "That poor girl...oh, not now, Feli, Mummy's busy," she said absently to the boy, who was pulling at her hair in a desperate manner.

Arthur smiled at the child, then turned back to the woman. "Why did you say 'poor girl'? Has something happened to my girlfriend?"

"Your girlfriend?" The woman's eyes practically popped out of her head. "Oh my god, they didn't even tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

"Oh dear," the woman shook her head. "Well, I guess you'll find out sooner or later," she sighed, and started to say something. However, she was interrupted by shouts from inside the house.

"Elizaveta! Eliza, can you-" A man appeared next to the woman, holding a tuning fork in one hand and a sour expression on his face. When he saw Arthur, he stopped talking.

"Oh, Roderich, it's you." The woman suddenly sounded all flustered, wrapping a hand around his arm and smiling. "This here is Arthur, and he was asking where Abby from next door is."

"Did you tell him, Eliza?" Roderich gave Eliza a look, and she returned a similar one. Arthur felt like he was missing something here.

"Listen, Arthur," Eliza turned back and his attention was focused on her again. "We're very sorry to tell you this, but-"

"Abigail moved away," Roderich said abruptly, and Arthur frowned. Even Eliza looked surprised.

"She moved?" Arthur asked woodenly.

"Yes," he replied icily. "She left. I don't know why she didn't tell you, but I'm sure she had her reasons. We're sorry."

"It's-it's okay," Arthur was, yet again, bewildered. Something in him was telling him they weren't telling the truth. But why would they lie?

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I have things to do," Roderich added calmly, then turned on his heel and started walking away. "Come on, Eliza," he called over his shoulder.

Eliza looked after her husband worriedly, then sighed and quickly slid the child out of her arms and set him on the floor.

"Feliciano, just go to daddy, okay? I'll be there in a minute."

Feliciano nodded cutely then waved at Arthur before toddling off.

Eliza grabbed something from a nearby table, then turned back to Arthur. "I'm sorry for Roddy's behaviour," she apologised, then held out the slip of paper that was resting on her palm. "When you find out where she's gone and if you want to talk about anything, you can call us. We liked Abby a lot."

"Oh, well, thank you," Arthur nodded, then took the paper and read it. "Elizaveta and Roderich Edelstein?"

"That's us," Elizaveta smiled weakly.

"Are you German?" Arthur asked, well aware that this was rather personal question, but he was curious.

"Not exactly - my husband is Austrian, but I'm from Hungary," Elizaveta explained, then glanced behind her and placed a hand on the doorframe, a signal for Arthur to leave.

"Well, thank you very much for your help," Arthur smiled. "Goodbye."

"Goodbye," Elizaveta replied, and quickly shut the door as he turned away.

Walking along the road in the general direction of centre city, Arthur struggled to process this new information. He didn't know whether to believe the frosty Austrian or not. It was entirely possible that Abby had moved away, but she couldn't have done it so quickly and quietly. And why was her stuff still in the house? Arthur couldn't accept that as the truth.

He walked into someone by accident, and apologised. The person stared at him, then shrugged, signalling it was nothing and walked away briskly. Arthur looked around, having been pulled abruptly out of his thoughts. He was standing at the end of a bridge over a railway, a small road with footpaths. There was nothing vaguely remarkable about it, but a sense of déjà vu hit the Brit so suddenly in the stomach that he doubled over, and had to stagger to the nearest bench to sit down. Gasping in pain, he felt a headache blossom in his skull and knew that another memory was coming. Somehow, he already knew this one wasn't going to be as pleasant.

To anyone else watching, they would only see a tall, blonde-haired man curled up on the bench, hands pressed against his head as he struggled internally with something. No-one would guess that the scene that was playing out in his mind was tearing him apart in mere seconds. All the observer would see was a look of terror on his face, and perhaps they would stop to wonder what was scaring to Briton so much. Then, a look of blankness would come over his face, and the man would stand up and look at the sky, where clouds were forming with speed. As the rain started falling, he walked to the edge of the bridge, reached into his pocket and pulled something small out - a phone maybe, or a little black box? Arthur looked at it for a second, then drew his arm back and threw the object far off the bridge, letting it tumble down to the rails below. Then, he looked back at where the observer was possibly standing, but he wouldn't notice them, too wrapped up in his thoughts to see them.

"Well, I guess I'll go home now," they might hear him murmur, and maybe stop and think what he could mean by that as Arthur began to walk away.

But, there was no-one on the bridge, and no-one to see Arthur throw away his engagement ring, and no-one to hear his one sentence. Arthur was alone; he had a feeling that, from now on, he always would be.

* * *

Arthur's Last Memory:

_Arthur walked along the street, making his way to the bakery in town from Abby's house. Hopefully he could intercept before she got there, or maybe on the way back - he didn't feel like proposing in a bread shop._

_As he neared the railway, he heard shouts and saw a small crowd amassed by the old bridge. Intrigued, he drew nearer._

_The people there were gathered around one side of the bridge, shouting something towards the middle. He heard the calls more clearly as he got closer, and they worried him._

_"Girl, what are you doing?"_

_"Get down from there - it's not safe!"_

_"You gonna jump, hot stuff? Can I take a picture for my wallpaper first?"_

_"Don't do it, lady!"_

_Arthur pushed his way through people, trying to see better. He was elbowed and bashed from all sides, but he didn't care. He could see something over the heads of the people around him, and he was praying to God it wasn't really what he thought it was._

_Suddenly, he burst out of the front row of people, and found himself on his knees in a clear area. He barely gave himself time to catch his breath; instead, he staggered to his feet and reached out a hand._

_"ABBY!" he cried, but she wasn't listening. Standing on the wall, she looked out over the heads of the people around, a look of calm on her face. Dressed in jeans and her favourite jacket; make-up perfectly applied; hair brushed out and neatly styled. Her reading glasses were perched on her head, which Arthur had noticed as he was struggling to the front. She looked totally normal, if it wasn't for her position._

_"Any second now," she murmured._

_"ABBY! LISTEN TO ME!" Arthur shouted desperately and a hush descended on the crowd around him as they watched the two._

_Abby didn't even look down, taking to silence of the people to her advantage. "Hopefully it won't hurt too much," she said almost cheerily. "Never did like screaming death scenes."_

_"No," Arthur whispered, as he heard the roar of the approaching train behind him. "No!"_

_Finally, Abby seemed to hear him. Glancing down, her blue eyes locked on his green ones. Not even a flash of regret on her face. Just sadness._

_"I'm sorry," was all she said._

_Then she let herself fall._

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**AN: Hope it didn't end too abruptly there xD So, that's my little USUK oneshot, based on All Time Low's song Remembering Sunday. I know it seems strange for fem!America to be suicidal, but a theme here was that you never know who might be one step away from ending their lives, so it's important to always be a good person. Unless you're South Italy, in which case you can be as grouchy as you want because it's adorable. Please review if you liked it or have any feedback, and please favourite if you really enjoyed it! That's all for now, folks.**

**~Romana**


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